“You must, indeed, earn their fervent gratitude,” said the king.
“We should, we should,” returned Johnny, “but I’m not certain that we do. Man is a thrawn beast as a rule. And now, you’ll just think over your situation through the night, and be ready to answer me in the morning all the questions I’ll ask of you. I’ll be wanting to know who sent you here, and what news you have returned to him since you have been on the Border.”
“We will give your request our deep consideration,” replied the king.
“I’m glad to hear that. You see, we are such merciful people that we have but one rope to hang our enemies with, while we should have a dozen by rights. Still, I think we could manage three at a pinch, if your answers should happen to displease me. You will excuse the barring of the door, but the window is open to you if your lodgings are not to your liking. And so, good-night, the three of you.”
“Good-night to you, Mr. Armstrong,” said the king.
Peter had drawn in the rope, and its sinister loop lay on the floor, its further length resting on the window sill, and extending out to the end of the beam. The cobbler examined it with interest. “Come,” cried the king, “there is little use letting a supper wait for the eating merely because we seem to have gone wrong in our inquiries about the cattle.”
Neither the poet nor the cobbler had any appetite for supper, but the king was young and hungry, and did justice to the hospitality of the Armstrongs.
“Have you been here long?” he asked of the prisoner in the corner.
“A good while,” answered the latter despondently. “I don’t know for how long. They hanged my mate.”